


Forest of Death

by Miuku



Series: After Savoy [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Guilt, Marsac is mentioned but isn't there himself, No happy ending in this one, No seriously the poor man feels so guilty about the whole Savoy thing, Post-Savoy, Treville feels guilty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 15:07:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14855084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miuku/pseuds/Miuku
Summary: Treville and some of his musketeers arrive in the scene of the Savoy Massacre to look for survivors and take the dead back to Paris to be buried. A small fic focusing on Treville and how he feels about the whole thing.





	Forest of Death

**Author's Note:**

> The basic idea for this fic was born a long time ago in a private chat between me and Mademoisellesnowflake on tumblr. I think the idea was originally mine, I'm not sure, but anyway Mademoisellesnowflake has also made a fic about Treville and the aftermath of Savoy.
> 
> Now, while this is technically told in 3rd person we're actually inside Treville's head basically the whole time, and see the things as he sees them. I didn't bother writing "Treville thought" after every single time he thinks about something in a way that might not be the same as how I personally view the matter, so I'm just assuming that you're clever enough to understand that I don't blame Treville about Savoy nearly as much as he blames himself.

When they got to the battlefield, it felt to Treville as painful as if someone had stabbed him. It hadn't been a battle, he realized. A massacre was a better word for it. He heard his men gasping and starting whispered conversations behind him. Never had he wanted to cry more than now. The guilt weighed on his shoulders heavier than any load he'd ever carried. But he wasn't allowed to break down. He wasn't allowed to cry. Not here and not now. For the sake of his men, he had to be strong. He had to be the captain they looked up to. He had to tell them what to do.

"Search for survivors", he ordered, though he did not have much hope of finding any. "And try to gather the dead together as well. We'll be taking them back and giving them a proper funeral if we can. But our first priority is to find and help any who might have survived. Now move!"

He dismounted and started walking through the snowy forest. He had to force himself to look properly at the bodies. These were men he had picked and trained, the very best soldiers France could offer. These were men he had let down. He knew all their names, he had loved them like his own sons. And he had betrayed them like this. It should have been a training exercise. None of them should have died.

If only I had known what Cardinal Richelieu had in mind when he asked me to tell their position, he thought. I could have refused, or at least I could have prepared for this. Now all this blood is on my hands. But Treville knew that wishing didn't change things. He'd have to live keeping the truth of this from everyone.

He didn't know what shook him out of his thoughts. Maybe it was a sound, maybe he saw movement, but suddenly something brought him back to reality again. He realized he was now looking at Aramis. He was sitting with his back against a tree, holding someone in his arms. As Treville came closer, he saw it was Edmond. Treville kneeled down in front of Aramis, and saw the sligtest hint of a cloud form on Aramis's lips as he breathed. Aramis was still alive!

But the joy of finding Aramis alive soon disappeared, when he realized that Edmond was dead, but his body was still warm to touch. Only half an hour, even ten minutes, hell, even five minutes faster and one more life might have been saved. Treville shook his head quietly. Now was not the time to grieve, now was the time to save who he could.

"Aramis is still alive! Take him back to where we left the horses. Do what you can about his wounds, or find someone who knows what to do about them. And have someone make a fire, it's freezing in here", he told whoever was the closest to him. It happened to be young Porthos, who had only been a musketeer for a few months.

Then he continued his work, but it proved useless. The only one they found alive was Aramis. When it was almost dark, one musketeer came to him holding a leather shoulderpiece with a _fleur-de-lis_ ornamentation, the kind of shoulderpiece all of the musketeers had.

"This was Marsac's, but we can't find his body", the musketeer told.

Treville took it, turning it in his hands. It took him a while to gather the courage to say the ugly truth aloud. It felt as if only when he said it it really became true.

"It hasn't come off by accident. He took it off. He's a deserter now."

 

No one spoke of Marsac as they settled down for the night. As if in a silent agreement, no one spoke of him afterwards either. The deaths were already hard. To admit that one of their number had not had the courage to stand and fight was impossible.

Treville watched his men as they all sat around a campfire. Everyone was silent. Now they had time to think of the dead. Treville was sure they were all asking the same questions, wondering how and why it had happened. He had answers for those questions, but he could never speak them.

Treville stood up and walked to Porthos, who was still watching over Aramis. He noticed how pale Aramis looked, how weak he was. The worry over the young man hurt Treville deeper than any blade could. He couldn't take it if Aramis died now, when they were so close to saving him.

"How is he?" Treville asked quietly, nodding towards Aramis.

Porthos shrugged. "Pretty much the same as when we found him, I think. I'm no expert in thsese things, of course. But I don't think he's conscious enough to know what's going on. I mean he talks, every now and then, but he's just talking to them."

Treville didn't have to ask to know that by "them" Porthos meant the dead. Treville sighed. If there only was something he could do... But there wasn't. God knew he would never be free from the guilt. He was the Captain of the Musketeers. He should have been able to protect them. He shouldn't have sent them to their deaths.

I should have known, Treville thought. I should have known I was signing their death sentence when I revealed their position. The Cardinal should have told me. I've made many hard desicions in my life, and this should have been the hardest. But I didn't know it and I made the desicion so lightly, and now twenty good men are dead. And for all I know poor Aramis may join them before sun rises tomorow.

 

To Treville's relief, the next morning Aramis was still alive. He was weak, still only half-conscious, calling the names of his dead comrades, but he was alive. Treville knew not to hope much - things could still change - but he was happy that for now Aramis was alive.

They left the forest as soon as they could. No one wished to stay there any longer than necessary, and they had a long journey ahead of them. There was no point in staying once they had done what they had come to do.

As they rode quietly on, Treville thought about Marsac. He wondered where the man was now and where he was headed. He wondered why Marsac, a man who had this far been a fine and brave soldier, had deserted. He hoped, both for his and Marsac's sake, that they would never meet again. However, a small part of him was sure Marsac would be back one day. Marsac had always liked to know why he was commanded to do something. Now Treville knew Marsac would be seeking answers for why the massacre he had witnessed had happened. If and when he found them, Treville knew their paths would cross. But that was far in the future - if it would happen at all - and not important right now.

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism is always welcome, if you happen to have some advice to give!


End file.
